Sooner or Later
by vivevoce
Summary: A look at Cain and Riff's relationship, as Cain grows up. Contains hormones, hangovers and the general inconveniences of being an attractive, promiscuous teenager lusting after one's butler. Rated M for safety. Assumptions are a must.


::

Riff's shoulders have always been pleasantly broad.

He is quite tall, almost six foot five, and has distressingly symmetrical features. His smile is pensive and white and straight. His hands are beautiful, strong fingers with elegant, square nails. He could brew the perfect cup of tea in under three minutes. He is sturdy enough to do manual labor and gallant enough to take it on. He is hardworking and kindhearted and practically a doctor, for all intents and purposes.

Needless to say, all the female help in the household are besotted with him.

Cain does his best not to fire the lot out of spite.

::

Cain can't place when it started exactly.

He remembers small moments, mundane in their frequency, where he would lean back against his valet and abruptly realize he was leaning against hard hipbones, a firm stomach and chest. Where Riff would absently brush the hair from his eyes and Cain would jolt from the contact. Where Riff would be droning to him about important events that required his attention, yet all he could focus on was the deep timber of his voice.

But Riff has been dressing and bathing and caring for him for quite some time now. He doesn't know why suddenly this all is so important.

::

Of course, Cain still follows around other girls, the pretty young daughters of successful noblemen. They find him attractive. He draws them in, unthinkingly, like a flame flickering before moths. For his part, Cain likes their long, curly locks, their easy blushes. How nice they smell, when they greet him.

Now that he's the head of his house, he has total freedom to go where he likes. He's young, but being deprived of society for so long, he doesn't know when to stop.

He likes the girls. He likes parties and social events. He gets around. But inevitably he always comes back home, and wakes up to Riff—shaking his arm, offering him tea, slipping a robe around his bare shoulders.

::

Cain turns fourteen, and he's less blind as to what's happening.

He is clueless, however, as to how to address the issue. And he's given little to no thought as to stopping it.

::

For a very awkward time when he was thirteen, he stopped Riff from bathing him in the mornings as usual. It began when he started realizing he enjoyed Riff's sponging _far_ too much for simple hygiene. Inevitably, this would result in very abrupt and irrational demands designed to get Riff out of the room (for a different towel, more soap, _was that Bertha_ _calling_, you'd best take care of that Riff) and Cain sinking to his neck in the bathtub; trying to pretend the flush in his face was from the heat of the water. Thankfully, Riff liked to put very dense, frothy bubbles into his bath, and by the time he got back, the problem was (mostly) taken care of.

Dressing him was a bit more of a problematic matter.

Although Riff was professional and methodical in every conceivable way, Cain was at the age where even the sight of Riff pouring tea or mundanely folding the laundry could result in disastrous hardening, much less standing in the nude and being buttoned up. He took to dressing himself for a while too. (Riff was very emotional, thinking his young master was finally becoming self-sufficient.)

::

There was the incident with Shavonne. For the first time, Cain realizes just how far he'd go to make sure Riff would stay, even if it was by proxy. (The suit of armor did all the work.)

He never liked that woman much.

::

Cain turns fifteen and learns better self-control.

Riff is still, in however many ways, unattainable to him.

Theoretically. This all hinges on the assumption that Cain gives a damn what the general population thinks about him. He quite cheerfully does not. That should at least make things simpler for himself, but somehow it doesn't resolve anything.

::

Eventually, out of pure frustration, Cain tries calculation to sort his feelings out; he lists them logically, as if puberty is something that can be controlled or distilled. Ridiculous as it might be, Cain is willing to try and he's hoping to be the first.

First, obviously, is the matter of gender. Sodomy is punishable by death, still, though Cain is embarrassed to be caught thinking that far ahead already.

Second, is the matter of age. Cain is barely old enough to stop being referred to as a child, while Riff is old enough to have finished college _and_ be engaged to a pretty fiancée. He could have had a family by now, if it weren't for Cain…

Third, while Riff might have sworn undying loyalty, might have claimed that Cain was his reason for being, might've seen him naked pretty much every morning and evening, he still did not necessarily declare any romantic or sexual devotion.

Fourth, Riff is a servant. Cain might suffer severe political repercussions at the hands of his family, but he still has status and wealth to protect him. Riff could conceivably be imprisoned or killed for his relations with him.

Fifth, and Cain is starting to despair of how long the list is becoming, Cain is cursed. Those girls he flirts with mean little to nothing to him, but Cain could never risk Riff's well-being.

Better to stick to Suzette, who, though related to him, is still almost a reasonable choice compared to Riff.

::

Cain starts becoming more promiscuous. Riff is already off-limits, it's not like it matters.

::

He takes up grave-robbing, murder-solving, and danger-seeking. Riff agrees to accompany him, muttering all the while about how he almost preferred the parties. Cain doesn't hear him, presumably because he's too busy cross-examining the newspapers for clues of the latest killer. His voice is almost eager as he reads it aloud.

"Look there, it's acid! The splash pattern is unmistakable. He must've been doused the bodies first, or else tampered with them after the victims were poisoned to prevent identification." Cain shudders. "What a gruesome account."

Riff looks on in despair.

"You used to like reading child's stories," he says helplessly.

::

Cain is sixteen.

Although he still considers himself nightmarishly inbred, he recognizes that he is still (modestly) the most beautiful creature to exist in the country, short of Riff himself of course. At sixteen, he has the look of eighteen, tall as his father had been before him. At sixteen, he has all the wit of thirty. Another century ago, he might've blown it off when Riff teased him about being a heartbreaker.

_Be careful, Lord Cain. The young women you court say that you possess quite a reputation._

After the fifth heartfelt confession of love, Cain grudgingly gives his butler a little more credit. For the most part, he is kinder to his conquests.

Mostly. Some of their eyes tend to stray appreciatively after his butler as he walks away.

::

Cain lies in bed, shaking from another nightmare.

Lately, he's been jumping headlong into more murders than is probably healthy for him. The images of bloody gaping wounds and agonized faces leave imprints in his mind and carry into his dreams. He remembers all the horrible stories those corpses had lived; the dreadful secrets that died unsaid.

The door opens and the bed sinks down on one side. Riff sets down his candle on the nightstand. He is still dressed in his uniform; Cain has no idea how late his valet has been working, but the dark circles under his eyes aren't comforting.

When Riff holds open his arms without asking, Cain throws himself at him, instinctively. Riff holds him for a while, rubbing comforting circles into his back without speaking. The rasp of his gloves over Cain's scars makes him shiver. Riff tucks his chin on top of Cain's head.

They keep this familiar position until Cain is able to master himself and stop trembling. Riff waits for him to release his shirt before he speaks.

"Do you wish to talk about it, Lord Cain?" His voice is quiet and soothing.

"No."

"You're crying," Riff points out absently.

"I'm aware." Cain's voice is thick, even to his own ears. He closes his eyes. He needs to distract himself. "Riff, how much sleep are you getting?"

Riff's hands stop their comforting and pause on his shoulders. He appears to actually have to think about it.

"About three, possibly four hours a day. Why, sir?"

Cain's head shoots up and narrowly avoids clocking Riff's jaw.

"Three hours! How are you getting anything done?"

"I always manage one way or another, Master Cain. There is no need to worry about your affairs, I can assure you."

"My _affairs _are not so important that you have to stay up past dawn working, especially after having accompanied me all day."

"I fail to see how this has anything to do with your discomfort, Master Cain." Riff's voice is amused. Riff is aware that Cain's distracting Riff from his own distress. Cain glares.

"Pass it off onto one of the other servants," Cain snaps. "Postpone or cancel my meetings altogether. And you have the gall to scold me for overtaxing myself."

Riff's laugh is weary. His breath moves the hair on the crown of Cain's head. Cain smells metal, and cooking oil, and smoke. Just how many duties has Riff been handling?

"Lord Cain, as you appointed me steward of this household, I can hardly shovel my responsibilities onto somebody else."

Cain is silent.

"I've been keeping you up later, haven't I," he says guiltily. "That's it, Riff, no more accompanying me on graveyard shifts. I'll manage quite well on my own."

"Nonsense. There are mysteries to uncover."

"Stop teasing and go to bed. You _must_ be tired to have a sense of humor this late."

"Only if you will. Sir," Riff adds on hastily. Cain's soft laugh is genuine this time.

"You forget yourself, Riff. It's almost like I have a proper father when you're around." Suddenly he stops himself, troubled. Riff notices.

"That's a good thing then," Riff smiles, hoping to distract him. He notices Cain isn't going along with the joke. His smile quickly evaporates. "What is it, Lord Cain?"

Cain mumbles something incoherent and Riff tries for a minute to understand. He gives up.

"Lord Cain, I did not quite hear that. Could you—"

"I don't wish to see you as a father."

Riff stops himself, surprised. Anyone else might feel a bit hurt by this statement but Riff is learned in the language that Cain speaks. Namely, body language. His shoulders are hunched, his head faced in the other direction. He's sheepish. Not irate.

How very contradictory.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir," Riff says gently. He's caught off-guard by the arms circling his neck. Cain is pressed against him, almost chest to chest.

"Lord Cain—"

"Forget it. Riff?"

Cain's voice isn't the charming one he's used on Riff countless times when he was younger and wanted to get his way.

"Why don't you stay tonight. I want to make sure you get your sleep, after all. You might wander off doing chores otherwise…" It's the same smooth tone he uses for beguiling women, Riff recognizes too late.

"Of course I'll stay here, Master Cain. Let me pull a chair up, and I can keep watch more comfortably." Riff purposefully picks the most innocent interpretation of Cain's request. Cain's hands slide down his shoulders, stop at his upper arms.

"I said _sleep, _Riff. What's the point of you sleeping if you're awake?" Cain's breath is cool against his neck. "And your back will grow sore. The bed's more comfortable, surely."

"That wouldn't be proper, Lord Cain." Riff's voice is mild, like he's chiding him for blowing off another meeting again. "I have my own room where I can get some rest. There's no need for me to encroach on yours."

"Stay anyway. Please."

Cain almost never begs. He knows the simplest of requests acts as a command to Riff. This is starting to get worrisome.

"Please. You keep the nightmares away."

There, the sound of the child he used to know. Riff hesitates. He sighs.

"Yes, Lord Cain. I suppose I ca—"

Suddenly, Cain's pulling him down so that Riff is practically on top of him. There's only a sheet between them, as Cain is not wearing anything at all.

There is no way this can be construed as paternal.

"Any objections?" Cain whispers.

Cain's hair is spread against the mattress. His face is way too close for comfort. The bold move had made it almost impossible for Riff to land innocently. As it was, Riff's forearms are shaking from the awkward angle which he is supporting his weight. He's doing his best not to break decorum any more than he already has.

"It would hardly be proper for the maids to find me in the same bed as you in the morning, Lord Cain." Riff's voice is purposefully light. He's trying to diffuse the situation somehow, keep it joking. "They might beat me with a broom."

Cain's eyes are frozen on his face, considering. The pupils dilated within the peridot-green.

"You don't want me." Cain's voice is a bucket of cold water. "You… I see." Cain pushes himself up, so that they're both vertical again. "I apologize." His voice is unnaturally even. "Please, get to bed, Riff."

"Master Cain—"

"You need your rest."

Riff recognizes a dismissal when he hears one, but he's loath to leave Cain now, after having just obviously rejected his advances. He's only sixteen, for heaven's sakes. He didn't know what he was doing.

Riff has done everything possible since he came into the Hargreaves household to protect Cain; he's always seen it as a relatively straightforward task. Not so when the cause of distress is himself.

Riff touches his shoulder, once, and wraps the covers warmly around Cain before leaving.

::

Cain goes through his next morning as usual, which perturbs Riff somewhat. At first Riff was cautious in drawing his bath; Cain's indifferent face as he undressed however, quickly proved that his worry was unfounded. Cain hardly says anything for the rest of the day; however, when he does speak to Riff, nothing in his voice suggests that they'd shared anything last night beyond a pleasant chat.

It's only when Cain leaves the house for a gala at the Farnsworths' manor alone that Riff allows himself to worry.

::

Cain comes back home that night smelling like lilacs and peonies. An entire riotous jungle of flowers has died and left its mark on his skin. Every woman's perfume in the room must've gotten on him at some point. Riff tries not to care, but it upsets him that Cain is clearly hiding his feelings behind women and parties.

Was that absinthe he smelled? Cain was too young to be drinking that.

"I can take care of myself for tonight, Riff." Cain seems to be addressing the doorknob. "Please don't disturb me." He closes the door behind him, leaving Riff holding his coat.

::

Riff doesn't normally go against anything Cain asks of him. Worry, however, prompts his weary feet to stop at Cain's bedroom door that night, after having finished all the other chores of the house. It's late enough that Riff is confident Cain must be sleeping. Any reasonable person would be.

Riff rubs at the back of his sore neck. He resolves to take just a quick peek inside.

Just to make sure he's alright.

::

Riff forgets to take into account that sixteen year olds are not reasonable people.

He pads quietly inside, relying on only his guttering candle for sight. Cain's eyes shine when the candlelight touches them. Cat's eyes.

"What are you doing up, Master Cain?" Riff asks tiredly. He barely cares that he's just directly disobeyed an order. Cain seems to either forget that he issued it or else doesn't care.

"I couldn't sleep." His voice is flat.

"You were waiting for me?" It's more of a statement than a question. Cain rolls over until his back is facing Riff. Riff sits down on the edge of the mattress and waits.

"Do you want me to brew you some tea, Master Cain?" Riff asks after a while. Cain doesn't take the bait. Riff is silent, but when no change comes, he quietly gets up and prepares to go to bed.

"…I didn't bed anybody, you know."

Riff stops in his tracks.

"I didn't have a very good time tonight either, if that's what you're wondering." Cain snorts. "My distractions tend to backfire when you're not there being your tiresome self."

"Why do you say that, Master Cain?" Let it not be said that Riff isn't inquisitive.

"Because there's no real point in courting women if you're not there to get huffy over it. And those spirits gave me a bloody headache."

Riff's lips twitch, but now is probably not a good time to laugh.

"I wouldn't think so," Riff says carefully. "That's very strong alcohol you've been consuming. I trust you remembered to dilute it with water?"

Cain curses, burying his head in his pillow. Riff smiles.

"I'll get you some water, Lord Cain. Hydration is the key to relieving headaches."

"I don't want any water."

He drinks it anyways when Riff brings it. Now he's lying on his side again, and Riff's left holding an empty glass. Riff absently notices the long, lean limbs curled underneath the covers. For some reason he feels conflicted. He reaches over and pulls the covers to up Cain's chest. Cain ignores him.

At least he does until Riff kisses his cheek.

"Sleep now, Lord Cain."

Cain rolls back over instantly, looking up at him with such pained, hopeful eyes. This is the most vulnerable Riff's seen him in a long time. Riff swallows. He would be the worst person in the world to take advantage of this now.

But Cain's still staring at him, that desperate, pleading look on his face. He reaches up, one hand on Riff's arm, anchoring him in place. Cain's fingers curl into his sleeve.

"Riff." Cain's voice is a whisper. "_Please_. I'm not too young."

"There are a lot of consequences to be reckoned with, Master Cain." Riff's voice is calm. "More trouble than you can imagine. If that happens, I'll lose you. I can't take that chance."

"I wouldn't _let _them," Cain says fiercely. "You care for me, don't you?"

"You would ask that question of me?"

Cain is instantly contrite.

"I know you do. But not in that way."

"Who said I didn't?"

"You just did."

"Perhaps I did."

"Riff. I want this. I _need_ this." He never loosens his grip, never lowers his eyes. "I'm selfish. I can't trust anybody else. I'll never _want_ anybody else. Not like I do right now. Never like this." Cain's bad with words, but it humbles Riff to hear him say it so bluntly.

"I never let them touch my back. Any of them."

Riff is startled to hear this. Somehow it has never occurred to him; though to his credit as a butler, he tries very hard to steer clear of his master's sex life.

Well. Now that he himself was concerned…

"Master Cain. I'm a servant."

"Servants have affairs with their masters all the time." Cain is relaxing himself, sensing Riff starting to give. "It's even easier for us. At least you can never have my illegitimate child."

"Master Cain!"

"Or I yours."

Riff looks scandalized.

"Whatever the case, we're both men. Actually, sir, you're legally still a minor. And your uncle Neil already detests me."

"Romeo and Juliet didn't let that stop them," Cain quips. He pauses. "Actually, that was a terrible example. But you understand the point of that play. Juliet was willing forsake her house and title for love." Cain leans closer than he was a moment ago. "She was even younger than I was, if I remember correctly."

Riff looks at him steadily.

"Juliet ended up dead. And," Riff adds blandly, "her Romeo was the first to follow." Cain looks like he's been slapped. "Assuming I'm playing the part of Montague in our analogy, sir." Riff's face is serious. "I would, you know. In an instant. Assuming I'd ever let anything happen to you, Master Cain, which I won't."

"And you'd really believe I'd let anything happen to _you_?" Cain continues, still shaken. "As for the fact we're both male, you can't possibly tell me it's unheard of in our present society."

"True, and it tarnishes the man's reputation. Not mine, sir," Riff adds at the look on Cain's face. "I don't have any title worth remembering. I meant yours. Your position as Count is precarious enough with your youth. I can't abide in any more slander of your name."

"Didn't I just spend the last few minutes arguing that I don't _care _about my bloody title?_"_

"I do, Master Cain. Life would be difficult for you."

"Yes, because it's so simple as of now." Cain's voice is scornful. "And that's assuming we get caught."

"Won't we?"

"No," Cain whispers. "But I think you're scared anyway." Distress clouds his face. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?"

Now it's Riff's turn to stare.

"I don't believe I follow, Master Cain."

"I'm cursed," Cain elaborates, almost as if just recalling the fact himself. "People I care about die all the time around me, drop like flies… I'm a product of incest. I'm poisonous. I killed my own father… My God, no wonder you don't want to sleep with me."

There's a lump in Riff's throat that's very hard to speak across. Finally, he endeavors.

"I'm sorry, but that's ridiculous, Master Cain."

"Is it?" Cain challenges.

"Absolutely," Riff says firmly. "I've been aware of this since the day I met you. And believe me, at the moment, I find myself in no hurry to seek alternate employment."

"You… _what_?" Cain looks absolutely floored.

"You're the only reason I'm here today. As I am, within this household." Riff's voice is gentle. "I would not leave you for fear of anything, Master Cain. Not God or the Devil or your lineage. And especially not yourself."

"Then… you're not afraid of me?"

Cain's eyes are brightly lit, trusting in the candlelight.

"No."

He kisses him, openmouthed, hungry. Riff doesn't back away.

::

No matter how many times he's dressed and undressed him, Cain's body never ceases to be a novelty. He's all grown now; all pale skin, all lean, long limbs. His hair, normally black, turns dark brown strewn across the sheets. His eyes are spectacular, whatever their origins, whatever Cain's feelings about them. Long lower lashes, full upper ones. Bedroom eyes. A devastating combination in one who both knew his looks and utilized them.

Cain on the other hand, has never seen Riff as anything but properly attired, and barely restrains himself from tearing the top two buttons from his shirt. As it is, his hands shake as he undoes them, one at a time. Riff is much bigger than he is, better built with age and labor; Cain is slender, narrow-boned, sinewy. It is a fascinating contrast that has Cain running his hands all over Riff's body, over and over, comparing the differences.

Cain is dark where he is fair, slight where he is substantial, frantic where he is smooth. His ribs expand under his hands with each breath. Riff's collarbones are a mystery, always having been hidden beneath high-collared shirts and ties. Cain nips as it, recalling all the times he's laid his head there for different reasons, remembers how comforting it used to be.

It's a different comfort now, mapping something he's always known but never explored. Riff has terrific arms. He knows how to use them.

Riff, on the other hand, has never been with a man before but figures it can't differ that much from being with a woman. Carefully, carefully is the way to do it. The only thing he needs was lubrication. He improvises. Master Cain always liked this particular lotion's scent anyway.

Cain tosses his head against the sheets as Riff touches his mouth to his navel. Cain's legs hook behind Riff's back, draws him closer. Riff's thighs nudge his own apart and he acquiesces. Riff hesitates. Cain is impatient and Riff groans a bit at his sudden movements.

"This is going to hurt," Riff warns him. "Your body isn't built for this."

"Just get on with it," Cain rasps. "Lousy servant," he adds.

Riff smiles. Cain grits his teeth, bites his pillow as he adjusts to Riff. It hurts, but Cain's taken forty lashes across his back before. This is nothing. Riff's weight presses down on him; heavy, safe. His name becomes an unconscious mantra, a hitched rhythm.

"Riff," he grits finally, meaning it this time. Riff's voice is tight.

"Yes?" Full sentences are beyond him at the present moment, much less titles.

"Will you… _ngh_… regret… this?"

Riff actually stops what he is doing just to stare at him. Cain opens his eyes and looks up peevishly.

"Are you actually choosing now to ask me that?" Riff sounds incredulous. Full sentences and everything.

Cain lies there, breathing hard, staring up at him. They're very, very close.

"You never said so… in as many… words," he finally manages.

Riff has a look on his face that Cain can't quite read. Suddenly he feels embarrassed for asking, but at the moment, he _needs_ confirmation. He needs to know. Gradually, Riff's eyes melt with understanding. His arms, which had been around Cain anyway, abruptly tighten, one hand cradling the back of his hair. He places his mouth against Cain's neck, speaks into the air right next to his ear.

"_I love you._"

Riff says it like it's the simplest thing in the word. Quiet and certain and _obvious_. He sounds like he's exasperated for having to even voice it.

Cain lies there, completely still, breath not quite coming. His eyes are fixed on the canopy. Cain is hardly aware of the wetness seeping into his hair, behind his ears. He blinks and the vision in one eye is suddenly clearer. Riff's tongue quickly laps against his cheek. Drying his tears. Like usual.

When Riff picks up where he left off, Cain is laced so tight around him, he barely moves when they're finished, gasping and trembling. He lies there for a long time, head on Riff's chest, eyelids flickering. Then, wincing, he gets up, and graciously locks the closed door.

"You're sleeping in here tonight," Cain informs him as Riff uses his discarded shirt to clean them both up. He folds himself into the crook of Riff's arm, against his ribs. "And you're not waking up before I do."

Riff's smile is wry as he settles the clean covers over them both. Cain's eyes are already closed, arm slung across Riff's stomach.

"Of course not, sir."

::

Cain turns seventeen. It's business as usual.

::

**A/N: **

**Two in one day? Why yes, I am rapidly working towards expanding Godchild's fanbase, how funny that you noticed! **

**I am ashamed of nothing. If there is very little to read, then I will write. **

**That being said, Riff and Cain's relationship both fascinates and impresses me. It's so intense, it kinda warms your heart up inside. But at times it's just _dark_ and disturbingly possessive. Riff treats Cain so deferentially it gets to the point where his personality takes backseat (literally). Pet peeves, passions, favorite colors? Nada. It's like his life just begins and ends with Cain. **

**Which. It... actually does. Okay. Right.**

**I had an interesting time breaking it down, year by year, as if Cain was a normal teenager. Because... well. The way Yuki wrote it, it's always just _been _there. Like, It Just Is, Accept It Reader_. _Magnetic. Unconditional. I dunno. It's difficult to capture. There were moments where I would just stop and realize it's a lot darker than I make it sound, or, I don't know. Disturbing. **

**But that could just be because it involves Cain in copious amounts. **

**And Cain is _messed. up. _**

**This is a fantastic thing, really.  
><strong>

**::  
><strong>

**Count Cain absolutely needs more love.**

**I will single handedly attempt to provide it.**

**...This probably is more ambition than I can really dish out, but I'll try anyway.**

**Baby, **

**I do this for your reading pleasure. **

**Support this venture! **

**(By reading and reviewing.)**

**with love, **

** vivevoce  
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